


le coup de foudre

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Coulson speaking French, Dancing, Drinking, Eating, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Kissing, Love Confessions, Paparazzi, Paris (City), Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Sexual Content, Shopping, Superhero problems, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vacation, bisexual Coulson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 10:10:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5123711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by tumblr conversations about paparazzi and Coulson wearing a henley and excuses for fluffy sex.</p><p>Daisy is tired of hiding in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	le coup de foudre

“Ah, sheesh.”

“What,” he asks, making his way to her at the window as the soft light peeks in from behind the curtains.

Between the gap she’s made he sees the narrow street below them teeming with people.

“Who tipped them off?” he asks, annoyed, keeping the curtain open to survey the situation as she walks away.

He hears her sigh and looks at her arms crossed as she sits in the chair at the little round table.

“Your crepes are getting cold,” she mentions to him as he joins her.

Her coffee cup is half-full, so he takes the pot and pours some warm, black coffee almost to the brim.

“When I said I wanted to see Paris-“ she starts, carefully taking the cup, and snuggling into her robe.

“This wasn’t what you had in mind, I know.”

He gets back to mulling it over, trying to work through the problem in his head as she quietly sips across the table.

“C’mon,” he says, standing up.  “Pack up your things, and I’ll bring Lola down through the alley.”

After all it’s not _his_ picture splashed all over the French papers this morning.

He should know, it’s sitting on the table next to their breakfast. 

He had the pleasure of reading it to her.  The photo of her really is quite good.

“Well don’t get _your_ picture in the paper, okay?” she yells to him as he heads into the adjoining room.

She still hasn’t seen the Eiffel Tower, he thinks, as he shuts the door.

He pulls up his jeans and manages the buckle, then draws the shirt over his head, undone just enough so that he doesn’t have to worry about buttons.

Shoving his toiletries into his bag, he zips it shut and crosses back over to her side.

“Sorry,” he says, turning away, seeing the bruises on her back, still fading from this last mission.

There’s still some pain associated with them, he can tell as she pulls down the t-shirt carefully.

She just needed a break.

He feels like he’s never been able to give her that since this all began.

And if some rogue Inhumans decided to pull a heist in Paris, they should probably take advantage of that, right?

At least, that was his thinking 48 hours ago.

 

###

 

“You should’ve quaked all of their cameras,” he chuckles, as they screech out of the alley in Lola.

She’s turning around to look behind them, her face hidden behind huge glasses and a floppy hat covering her head, as the paparazzi chase them down the street as far as they can.

“Nice disguise,” he teases, raising his eyebrows at her. She must’ve picked it up in the hotel shop.

“Thanks. In case you don’t know, I’m a super spy,” she smirks, and takes the hat off shaking her hair.

He nods in agreement.

“So, where are we meeting up for the extraction?” she asks.

Getting right down to business.

“Actually,” he starts, handing her over a small piece of paper. “I made some other plans.  If that’s alright?”

She takes it from him and looks at it. “An address.”

“I still have contacts from my old SHIELD days,” he says, going through the roundabout. “I decided to take advantage of them.”

“Can we trust these people?”

Even though she’s giving him a serious face, her voice tells him she’s more pleased than concerned.

“Probably not completely,” he smirks. 

“But, we can handle it, right?”

“We’re super spies.”

 

###

 

“Sorry.”

It’s an apology, truly.

“Not anything like what I had in mind,” he goes on. “But-“

“No paparazzi,” she says, tossing her bag onto the bed.

“This is smaller than some of our safehouses,” he replies, turning around to scrutinize the apartment.

“It’s fine.”

And he knows she means it, making a point to turn her chin up at him so he can see her grateful smile.

“We sort of missed breakfast.  How do you feel about lunch?”

He sets his own bag on the sofa, his back already regretting it, but this is better than having to check in at a hotel register and risk being noticed again.

Besides, it’s been years since he’s been to this neighborhood.

He’d like to see it again.

“Rue Lepic,” she repeats the name back to him.

He nods, noticing her picking up his pronunciation from earlier.

“And your friend Jacques?” she adds, raising her eyebrows suspiciously.

“Yeah, his name’s not Jacques. He’s retired. Former intelligence agency.”

She starts to head for the door as he holds it open for her.

“And how did the two of you meet?” she says, catching his eyes.

“At a record shop. We were actually tailing the same target,” he smiles, edging her out the front door.

“And we also happened to like records,” he adds, raising his eyebrows, as he turns to lock the door.

“Bet that’s not all Jacques liked,” she teases, pretending to eye him up and down.

He gives her a warning look. 

“It was a really cool record shop,” he explains, as they walk down the apartment hall.

“Want to see if it’s still there?”

 

###

 

The shop is still there, and he’s kind of thrilled and trapped in a moment of nostalgia so that it makes him worry Daisy will be bored.

But instead she’s watching him pour through the record collection and whine about prices for vinyl, all too happy to remind him that she benefits from his taste in music.

And she steers him more towards soul and away from rock and roll, just like she does when they’re in the office.

“So, not-Jacques,” she says, holding onto his selections. “Was that a _thing_ or just a _thing_?”

“Why are you so curious about that?”

“I like knowing about your past.  I can’t stand the idea of you being mysterious, really,” she adds, mock rolling her eyes.

“It was more like a crush,” he finally concedes, tilting his head, as if to confirm that she’s done.

She just gives a knowing bump with her shoulder and takes the record he’s holding out of his hand as he follows her to the counter.

“Do you still want to see the Eiffel Tower?” he asks her, paying cash for the records.

“Can we walk there?

“No,” he says as she sweeps the bag away with her towards the door.

“Then let’s do that last,” she says, looking around at the neighborhood in the cool, sunny weather.

“Can we be extracted from the Eiffel Tower?”

“What do _you_ think?  


###

 

They have dinner only just in the neighborhood, really just a plate of meat and cheese with some bread and wine.

It’s perfect.

This place is a bit of a dive, but it feels like they can slip in here and go unnoticed with the locals. 

She traces her finger again over the small painting she bought of the windmill restaurant from one of the artists gathered in front of it.

Their one moment of tourism weakness.

And no one has recognized her yet.

He’s kind of surprised.  She’s so striking, even wearing jeans and a t-shirt instead of her field suit that’s in the papers.

The day has been perfectly normal, outside of the paparazzi incident this morning.

It’s easy to forget what their lives are really like.

“What?”

And he knows he’s been staring again.

“What do you want to do after this?” he asks, taking another sip of his pretty decent cheap wine.

The night’s young.  They came here early enough to beat the happy hour crowd.

Plus, he’s still planning on taking her to that tea room on the 16th he’s always wanted to visit for their desserts.

“Dessert?” she replies, kind of eagerly and sips her wine.  “Can we drop this stuff off back at the apartment, though?”

On the way back she stops in front of the sign pointing to a shop in the basement. 

“Do you do vintage?” she asks, like it’s a trick question.

“I am vintage,” he replies, not without some sass.

“We still look a little SHIELD,” she sighs, eyeing her clothes.  “Maybe we should go undercover for the evening?”

This doesn’t sound like something he’s up for at all, but he follows her down into the basement anyway.

 

###

 

Nevermind that he wears t-shirts, even if it’s not out in public.

Somehow, she has talked him into wearing someone else’s dirty old henley, because him doing a shirt without a collar is apparently a phobia of his.

She comes out of the apartment bathroom wearing a red lipstick he’s never seen on her, and messy hair, and some boxy vintage mini dress with her boots.

She looks very Parisian, actually.

“Hey, nice shirt,” she says, stepping up closer to him. “See? I told you it was cool.”

He touches her elbow, then passes her to go into the bathroom and glances at himself in the mirror.

It’s fine.  He looks like he took a nap in it.

She pushes in past him and undoes the top couple of buttons as he watches her reflection.

“There. Now throw on our jackets, and we’re good to go.”

She slips her leather jacket on over the dress and announces, “We should be anyone we want to be.”

It’s not hard to imagine that she might want to be someone else, after everything she’s been through in the past year.

What he would want this to be, if things weren’t so complicated, is another story.

“Strangers who met by chance?” he throws out, as he slips on his sweater coat.

“Ships passing in the night. Like you and not-Jacques?” she says, animated by a teasing smile.

“Yeah, yeah,” he answers, pushing her out the door with his hand on her back.

 

###

 

He knew this was going to happen, if he kept playing along.

When she mentioned them not being SHIELD. 

Everyone knows that you don’t do this when you’re undercover.

He certainly knows.

“Do you like to cook?”

You leave out emotional desires, you focus on minor, mundane details.

“Definitely.”

“What do you make when you want to impress someone?”

“Grilled cheese,” he says, teasing.

 “That must be some grilled cheese.”

They stop outside of the patisserie, and instead of going inside, he hesitates.

He wants to ask her if this is what she really wants to do all night.

This game.

The bakery is crowded but the mood inside is reserved. A place where you take someone you don’t know to make an impression.

That’s not what this is.

Then her hand presses softly against his arm, and she looks up into his eyes, like she’s already one step ahead.

“We could always skip dessert.”

And that’s more than enough.

There’s this small bar not far from where they’re staying. 

“We could squeeze into a booth in the back and have another drink?” he’s telling her.

She’s about to answer when suddenly her face is flooded with a rapid fire of flashing lights.

He turns to put his hand up and grabs the first camera he sees, then yanks his sweater up over her and his face as they walk then start to run down the street.

She’s laughing while they’re being chased.

He can keep up with her enough, through the crowd of people, and she grabs him towards a shop and up a flight of stairs while they wait it out.

“Permission to quake them,” he grouses.

“Phil.”

“What if I order you to?”

 

###

 

They spend the rest of the night successfully evading the predatory photographers, and he’s dreading having to comb through social media tomorrow to deal with this.

Not his thing.

Daisy doesn’t seem too troubled by it, though.

Much like she wasn’t that bothered by the ATCU in the end. More like, defiant.

“You don’t care, do you?” he says over the music and the voices.

As promised, they are squeezed into one side of a both in the back of a loud, crowded restaurant playing American blues music.

“I can’t exactly hide forever,” she answers loudly, with a shrug. “Do you think we should have to?”

“No,” he answers, his eyes darting up to hers.

Then he pours more wine into her small glass.

“And this is better than me coming out in a nationwide manhunt, right?  I stopped some bad guys. Minor property damage,” she adds proudly, poking at his chest.

“And now people know that people like me are the good guys.”

“You’re going to need a cooler suit,” he says, after thinking it over for a moment.

“Something less SHIELD?”

Her eyes are shining at him.

“Maybe,” he says, putting down his glass, and sliding his hand over hers.

“Le coup de foudre,” he says, taking her hand in his.

“Oh, _really_?”

“C’mon.  Let’s dance.”

 

###

 

They take the rest of the wine home with them, and they’re pressed into the space in front of the door to keep out of sight, while he fumbles for the keys in his pocket.

Between all the drinking and the dancing, they’re a little light-headed, and she doesn’t even hesitate before she moves in to kiss him, pushing him up against the door.

It’s kind of bold, and it sends him reeling.

He can’t remember the last time someone made him feel wanted like this. 

It’s been a long time.

The keys are forgotten as he kisses back, sliding his hand underneath her dress to pull her up against him, slipping his tongue against hers as her lips part just enough.

“Mmm. Keys,” she gasps, reaching into his pocket, pushing his busy hand away, and searches for them, brushing her hand up against his hard on through the fabric.

“Keys,” he sucks in, desperately, as she does it again, watching him trying to maintain some semblance of control.

He finds them in the back pocket and turns to the lock to get the door open.

When they’re back inside, she walks in like it’s just another night in Paris, like this place is hers now, and sets the bottle down on the small table against the wall.

She slides her jacket off her arms, and throws it towards the couch, before sitting on the edge of the bed with a bounce.

“Come here,” she says as he stares back at her.

He does as he’s told, taking off his sweater and tossing it to the side, leaning down over her until her back is against the coverlet, and his knee is on the bed.

Lips are on hers again, slowing down to careful explore every part of her gorgeous mouth.

Hands move lightly against his chest, her fingers running over the hair peeking out from underneath the shirt, tickling and erotic at once.

Then she gets impatient and pulls the fabric loose from his belt, slipping her hands underneath.

That much contact on his body, her hands warming up against his skin, makes him realize how hungry he is for this.

Their connection. Knowing that it’s her doing this to him.

It pulls at something in his chest, and sends a throb through him.

It comes out as an embarrassing groan and she laughs a little at him while he tries to hide his face against her neck.

“It’s alright,” she tells him, drawing her finger along his jaw until he looks at her.

“It’s been awhile for me, too.”

She’s looking at him closely, dark eyes making a path across his face.

“What?” he asks, a little self-consciously under her gaze.

“My red looks good on you,” she teases, swiping her thumb across his mouth.

She kisses his lower lip and pulls him closer.

 

###

 

Now he’s gotten the call.

He knew that this couldn’t last, but, still.

Normally, she’d be up before him, but maybe it was the wine?

He’s not sure with her Inhuman metabolism.

He only knows he never gets to see her like this.

What he wants to do is touch her hair. 

Watch her slowly come awake, and then make love to her some more.

Kiss her bruises until they’re completely faded away.

But, she never gets to rest, and they were up all night.

He might have a mark or two to prove it, and he goes to the bathroom to shave.

One look in the mirror and he sees there’s definitely a red spot right near his collarbone.

Guess he’s wearing a shirt with a collar today.

 

###

 

“Oh, you know me so well,” she says, holding out her hands to him as he shuts the door behind him.

He puts the paper mug into her hands, and watches her take her first sip.

“Heaven,” she says, clutching the latte possessively.

“We’ve got an hour or so to kill,” he says, slipping into professional mode.  “Do you still want to see the Eiffel?”

“Definitely,” she answers, getting off the bed.

It’s already made. She’s back in her SHIELD clothes.

He hands her the pastry as they walk out of the apartment together and locks it.

The key gets dropped in the mail on the way out.

There’s still one more thing left to do.

 

###

 

The steps up the Eiffel and less crowded than waiting in the lines for the elevators.

There are also seven hundred and four of them to be exact.

They only need to get to the second level, so they won’t need to do all of them, but it’s been mostly quiet and he just wants to know what she’s thinking.

This was not a mistake. 

That’s what he keeps telling himself step after step.

“What did you say to me, in that bar?”

She stops and looks out at the view of the city below.  There’s something in her expression that makes him think she’s trying to clear the air.

“Le coup de foudre,” she repeats back to him, turning to look him in the eyes.

“It means,” he starts slowly. “Hit like a bolt of lightning.”

Her eyebrows furrow at him, and it’s like she’s waiting for him to continue.

“It means ‘love at first sight’.”

They have to move out of the way as a trio of people make their way up past them on the stairwell.

“How long were you going to wait to tell me-“

“I tried to tell you last year,” he answers. “But then everything blew up in our faces, and I haven’t exactly been myself,” he adds, holding up his left hand.

“You mean, that Lola thing,” she says, closing her eyes to recall it.

“Yeah.”

“That was kind of indirect, don’t you think?  I had make sure you were even comparing me to Lola.”

“We should keep going,” he says, then pauses, waiting for her to continue the ascent before he follows.

 

###

 

She has her fingers in the wire screen, looking over the city from the second level.

It’s crowded now, and he feels like they can slip into the background here.

“I don’t want to hide anymore,” she says, squinting in the sunlight.

“I know.”

“I’m not talking about what I am-“

“I know,” he says, wrapping his arm around her. “I don’t want to, either.”

He kisses her, and it’s like the night before comes flooding back to him.

His fingers in her hair, mouth roaming all over her, brushing his lips against her hipbone, his name in her mouth as she-

They pull apart as a huge gust of wind pushes the crowd back from the edge of the observation deck.

She’s immediately on edge, but then he touches her arm lightly, and smiles.

She looks at him and the realization hits her.

“Tell me you didn’t-“

“I’ll see you back at the base,” he smirks, then lets go of her, fading back into the crowd.

He turns to watch as he gets on the elevator, long enough to see the Quinjet uncloak and her jump on the zipline dropped through the gap in the ceiling of the deck.

All the phones and cameras are flashing for her.


End file.
